Apocalypse When?
by eluvent
Summary: When Dean is severely hurt on a witch hunt, Sam must take care of his brother for a while. He soon finds, however, that there is something else going on with Dean's injury. Featuring Hurt!Dean and Frantic!Angst!Sam.


**Disclaimer: Okay, I don't like to talk about it, but...I don't** ** _really_** **own Supernatural or the boys. Let's keep that between us.**

xxx

Dean woke with a start, and was immediately washed over with an overwhelming pain in his left side. His hand flew up to the source and his fingers shakingly grazed over a rough, somewhat tubular object. The end that was sticking out of him felt splintered. Was there a fucking tree branch embedded in him? He shifted his position to get a better view of just where the hell he was, and choked back a gasp. The pain was bad enough without moving. With it, there was just no way. To make matters worse, it was hot. It felt hotter than hot, actually. It was a sweltering, muggy, make-you-want-to-lock-yourself-in-a-freezer-and-die-there kind of heat. The kind of heat that made you wonder why you ever complained about the cold. Why, on God's green Earth, did a place so hot even exist? A damn furnace would come here on vacation.

Through the dim light of either dusk or dawn, he could see that he was in a hole, maybe six feet in diameter and three feet deep. A million thoughts raced through his mind as he lay there, his back propped up against the wall and his breathing ragged. Though the pain prohibited most coherent thoughts, he managed to put together some pretty basic questions. How'd he get here? Where was ' _here'_? How long had he been ' _here'_? The last thing he remembered was pulling up to some forest to hunt a...Well, he couldn't remember. All he knew was that he was lying in a pool of his own blood in some hole somewhere, he couldn't remember anything, and Sam...His head shot up. Sam. He tried to call his brother's name but it came out a weak whisper. He struggled to stand, ignoring the blinding pain, but to no avail. He had only managed to get a few inches off the dirt floor before dropping back down, his head swimming.

It was then that he heard someone calling for him. It sounded distant, but was quickly getting closer. Finally he heard the voice stop nearby, a thud beside him, and suddenly someone was shaking him. Hard. Letting out a sharp gasp at the increased pain, he arched his back off the wall. The shaking stopped immediately, and he looked over, pained creases on his face. He saw a blurry Sam. A frantic, blurry Sam, who was fretting over the freakin' tree that decided to take up residence in him for a bit.

"God, Dean. I've been looking for you all night."

Well, that answered one question. Before he could even put together a solid thought, he was being pulled up out of the hole and leaning against Sam's side, one arm looped around his waist and his own arm draped around Sam's neck.

He wasn't sure how long the two of them struggled to walk, but it felt like eternity. Dean couldn't seem, for the life of him, to take a steady step. That left him stumbling like a drunken fool, and if it weren't for a certain baby Winchester, he'd have faceplanted however far back. "Dean." He didn't raise his head, he just gave a short moan in reply. "Dean?" Sam repeated. He lifted his head and gave Sam a look of pure annoyance. That seemed to be enough, and he felt Sam relax a little. He hadn't realized that he had put all of his weight on the poor guy, and resumed his stumbling gait.

Not long after, or what he thought was not long after, he was being placed into the passenger seat of the Impala, which abruptly took off. "I can't believe you got yourself injured again." Sam glanced over as he was speeding down the deserted highway. "Yeah, well, Grandmother Willow had a temper tantrum." He loosened his grip on the branch, while Sam's hold on the steering wheel tightened at his brother's levity. Though it eased his nerves to some extent, it sure did piss him off. "Do you remember what happened?" Dean's breath hitched as the car ran over a pothole. "Last thing I remember is pulling up to some Apocalypse Now wannabe forest. Now we just need to light the mother up."

Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean leaned his head against the scorching window. The sun's rays seemed to have picked his window to focus on. "Let's not take another case in Florida for a while, huh?" Dean murmured. "There's not even a beach in sight."

Sam scoffed, but didn't respond. He knew if they found a gig in this hellish state again, Dean wouldn't hesitate to check it out. ' _Them before me'_ was kind of his unofficial motto. Sam glanced over at him from time to time, wondering how the hell he had lasted this long. Not that he was complaining, but he couldn't help but appreciate Dean's obvious attempts to...Well, not die.

He made a quick decision and headed toward the motel. Maybe that was his ego talking, but he thought he could deal with his brother's injuries himself. Plus, with his and Dean's faces fresh off the news after being impersonated by leviathans and "announced dead", maybe it wasn't such a great idea to be popping up - hey, _not_ dead - so soon.

Before Dean knew it, he was being lightly shaken awake again. "Get off me. I'm not up for your kinky games tonight." He muttered. Sam huffed a laugh and hauled him out anyway.

"Where're we?" Dean breathed as the duo stumbled toward the motel room door.

"Motel just outside of Gainesville." He grunted in approval and then was laid down on a bed that felt like a cloud, despite the obviously-bargain stiff mattress. His eyes began drifting shut, his mind drifting toward the land of forgotten memories and lollipops. "Hey, stay with me." A hand clamped down on his leg and he cracked his eyes open.

Sam was shuffling around beside him, opening things and placing them around him. "How you feeling?" He said without looking up.

"Dude, I'm a friggin' Groot kebab." Sam glanced over. "I'm top-notch." He nodded.

"Good, then I don't expect any complaints." Fingers began prodding the skin around the branch, pulling the edge of the wound and testing depth. Dean's body tensed immediately and he let out a groan between clenched teeth. "Son of a…" He gasped.

"Okay, uh...This is gonna hurt." He could hear the sympathy in Sam's voice, and he opened an eye to see him grasping the branch with one hand, the other braced against his stomach. Hesitation clouded his eyes. "Oh...fuck." Dean sighed. "Get it over with. I'm gonna hit menopause if you wait any longer."

Without another word, the hand on his stomach pressed down and an agonizing sensation of ripping flesh tore through his side and washed through his body. His back arched off the bed, jaw locked in place while screams threatened to escape his lips. And just as soon as it started, the breath-taking agony was reduced to a slightly-more-bearable piercing pain. He was left gasping for air, his blood rushing in his ears and Sam's calls going unheard. Black spots speckled his vision and he let his eyes fall shut.

"Dammit, Dean. Open your eyes!" Sam continued adding wads of gauze to the rapidly-bleeding wound. After yanking out the branch and tossing it aside, Dean had seemingly held on for a few minutes, then passed out. He would've been relieved at his brother's loss of pain if it hadn't been for, well, the growing pool of blood.

He held the gauze in place for a few minutes to help stanch the blood flow. With a wary glance at his unconscious brother, he peeled the soaked gauze off. The hydrogen peroxide was already handy, so he just poured some over the gaping hole and moved on. Meanwhile, Dean didn't so much as flinch to the alcoholic intrusion to his wound.

Sam never liked this part. Sure, he was used to stitching up his brother - and even his father, on occasion, when Dean was incapacitated or absent. But the fact that he even knew how to do this still itched every now and then. While all thoughts of a normal life were thrown out the door after he got back in the game, he wasn't blind to the fact that this was some seriously fucked up shit that they dealt with. He usually just ignored it - and expertly, at that.

So he carried on anyway, he wiped away the blood. His brother's blood. And he slaved over the stitches, made sure that they were even and spaced out right, because that's what he was taught. He used the last of the antiseptic cream, pressed a few squares of gauze on top, and carefully wrapped it with bandages a couple times for good measure.

By the time he was done, mid-morning light was filtering through the heavy motel curtains and Sam was ready to sleep for the season. He checked Dean's pulse and breathing, flipped off all the lights, and then crawled into his own bed and promptly fell asleep.

xxx

 _Thanks for reading chapter one! Tell me what you think in the comments, if you'd please. If you want to read chapter two, you'll have to wait a few days._

 _On the topic of the storyline, let's just say things aren't going to get any better for our pal, Dean._


End file.
